


A Trio of Tales

by McLavellan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 01:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/pseuds/McLavellan
Summary: Three gift drabbles :)





	A Trio of Tales

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Th3_Morrigan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th3_Morrigan/gifts).



Maeve had been wandering the ramparts most of the late afternoon. With the sun slowly going down, it was soon to be time for the torches and, for Cullen, the end of the working day. Or the paperwork side of it at the very least. So long as he was Commander he'd be at the beck and call of the Inquisition.

“Looking for something?” he asked.

“Seeing if I could feel the direction of my clan…. It sounds silly, but I always thought I'd be able to find them even when lost.”

“Lost?”

“Don't worry,” she smiled. “I mean geographically not…. Emotionally. Despite how crazy everything is, Solas has been a good anchor.”

He tried not to flinch at the name, the reminder that she'd never want him over the other man. “You must miss it.”

“I do. At times. What about you? You must miss home?”

Cullen stared out for a moment thinking, now himself curiously guessing is he was facing Kirkwall. And if he'd rather be facing Honnleath. “Sometimes I think I miss the peace and quiet. Then I remember how much I ached to get away from that. But, despite what the Orlesians think, our cakes are fantastic.”

“I'm going to need proof,” she smiled, shivering slightly.

“Here… for what warmth it offers,” he smiled, dropping his mantle carefully on her shoulders. He smiled as her face little up, pulling the fur tightly around.

“What about you?” she asked, looking up to him.

“Don't worry about me. I'm Fereldan.”

They stood quietly, looking over the darkening horizon, a cold wind brushing against them.

“There was a story,” he began, “of a man who could turn himself into a wolf. There are a lot of ways to tell a man from a wolf and both from a werewolf, but this particular man seemed perfectly normal all his life. He lived in a village plagued by one of the monsters but seemed to suffer, just as everyone else, from its wrath. Then, one night, he attacked his wife in a temper and she held a knife out to protect herself. As it cut into his belly they saw that, on the underside of the skin, was the beautiful coat of a wolf.”

“Are you telling me you're a wolf?”

Cullen chuckled and shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Good. Because I like you as a lion. Of course, that might have something to do with our take on wolves. They all relate back to fen'harel, the trickster.”

“I've heard that name,” he frowned.

She laughed, the sound almost wiped out by the wind that whipped around them, stronger now, as if summoned by the mention of her god. “Probably in a curse. I remember the one time my grandmother beat me. I'd been hiding pickles in the healer’s bed and she bid the dread wolf take me. Apparently the correct response to that isn't ‘where to?’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally at the end:
> 
> He laughed with her, surprised, and put a hand to the small of her back. “How about we share more stories somewhere warm?”  
>  “I hear the tavern at Skyhold is marvelous,” she grinned, as they made their way past the lamplighters.


End file.
